


Silence In Between

by The_Shy_One



Category: Hellblazer, Hellblazer & Related Fandoms, Moon Knight (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Drinking, First Meetings, Flirting, Guilt, Kissing, M/M, Magic, Mentions of Dissociative Identity Disorder, One Shot, Smoking, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Shy_One/pseuds/The_Shy_One
Summary: John finds himself stuck in between the space between realities. He meets Marc Spector, a man given a mission by Khonshu to get him back to his universe.
Relationships: John Constantine/Marc Spector
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	Silence In Between

Through his own mistakes and tribulations, John Constantine ended up in the space between realities. It appeared as London in all her grim and shadows, the magic of millions and millions of souls all crammed together to give the city the personality and reputation that it had gained. But despite appearing as his city, John knew better. He knew what London felt like, what she actually felt like unlike the tourists and posh tossers would try to claim. This was to keep his mind from melding as it wasn’t a place for humans of any kind.

He moves through the streets, trying to find where he could escape. He needed to get back home and he much didn’t feel like trying to escape the many deities that had a grudge against him. Demons were petty, so were gods, but deities and other creatures would simply obliterate him if they caught sight of him.

A sigh and he pulled out his cigarettes. With a quick flick of the lighter, the end lit up red for a moment and then he took a breath in. His lungs, beyond repair at this point despite the demon blood that pumped through his body keeping him alive, greedily sucked in the smoke. John relaxed slightly and continued to walk the streets of fake London. There had to be a way out, he just couldn’t be stuck here forever.

When he saw the familiar sign of the few pubs he regularly went to, John figured it couldn’t hurt to sit for a while. He obviously needed to regroup, figure out a more clever way of finding his way back to his reality than wandering aimlessly.

He steps inside, only seeing the bartender - that he saw every time he went to that pub - and goes to sit in a booth. She’s dressed up nice enough, something that contrasted against the tattoos that were pretty and lacy that crawled up her neck. She stared at him over the counter as if he were another customer and not an annoyance with a tab that never got paid. Then she comes around and goes to stand near the booth as if she were a waiter and not a bartender. Magic had its limit after all. It could take the appearance, but never the essence of something from your mind. 

“What’ll be?” She asks, still wiping a glass in her hand. He blows smoke at her, seeing the fact that she doesn’t cough or hack, just took it like she was a robot. 

Sighing, John answers,” Gin, luv.”

With a nod, she goes to pour him one, movements smooth and methodical. Maybe the space between realities did use robots when someone wandered in here unexpectedly, certainly is a lot easier than having the deities themselves be an actor. She returns, putting the glass in front of him. Then she put an ashtray in front of him as well without being asked if that's what he wants.

John watched her for a moment, squinting his eyes. He hoped it wasn’t a deity in disguise. When she turned and went behind the counter, back to cleaning the glass without looking his way, he shrugged and focused on smoking his cigarette and drinking his gin.

Minutes passed as John made his way through both things, thinking about how he was going to escape. There had to be a way out, he couldn’t be stuck roaming the empty streets of London for the rest of his life. It would be long and boring if he wasn’t caught by the other entities that lived here and short and swift if he was. A breath in and then sighing out the smoke.

As he stared at his drink, hoping it would give him perspective there was the sound of the pub door opening and the closing. John didn’t look up, hoping that if he appeared as if he belonged there that whatever came in wouldn’t take their wrath out on him. 

There were footsteps, purposely being louder than they actually were and through the clear glass, he saw a figure in white. Their face was obscured by a white mask, and shadowed by the hood that they had up. There was a symbol of the moon on their chest, giving away that they were a worshipper rather than any of the deities that lived in this space.

Whoever they were, he still wouldn’t take a chance. Worshipper meant that they did as their god or goddess commanded of them. John watched through the glass as they approached him. They didn’t give off any kind of emotion as they sat across from him in the booth, looking at him through their mask.

The bartender didn’t even have to ask what the masked worshipper wanted, simply came around the counter and put a glass in front of them - same as when she placed the ashtray in front of John. Silence graces the space as John carefully watched the worshipper stare at him, looking him over as if to assess if he were a threat. Then with careful movements, they moved to push their white hood back and took their mask off.

What was underneath was a man, human and handsome even with the cuts and bruises on his face. He laid the mask down on the sticky table and looked towards John with pretty brown eyes. The other thing that John noticed is the brown hair wasn’t rumpled much, only enough to be classified as playfully tossed despite wearing a mask over his head. This man sitting across from looked desperate despite his body telegraphing that he was at home with the space between realities.

“I would say something smart and clever for you to swoon over, but I feel that wouldn’t be appreciated mate,” John says, finally. He crushed his cigarette into the ashtray, done with it. “Got a name or are you too dedicated to being a worshipper to have one?”

“Marc Spector. I am here to get you back to your realm, Constantine.” He says, careful and slow. Stares at John with a considering look. Likely wasn’t used to having others believe him about the things that go bump in the night.

John smirks, taking a drag.”And what makes you think I can’t do that on my own?” He asks, letting smoke filter out along with his words.

“Can you do it before any of the others find you and skin you alive? Or find your way back to your own realm without bargaining with any of them?” Marc asks. He stares at John, taking a sip of his drink, waiting for him to answer. 

“I’m not some babe lost in the wild, mate,” John starts, leaning over the table to get closer to the other man. “I can take care of myself, even if I’m a non-believer. Now are you here to lecture me on behalf of your god or do you know the way out?”

Marc didn’t look phased, just tilted his head. As if he were studying John instead of trying to argue a point of protecting him. John stares back, wondering how much this man even knew about what John dealt with. He spoke John’s last name but didn’t have the tone that usually came with it. The one that spoke of disdain or distrust when said to his face. (And he really didn’t want to know how it was spoken behind his back.)

That leads John to the other detail that Marc said. That Marc would bring John back to his reality. Not  _ ours,  _ only John’s. He was a worshipper of a god - unknown other than for the crescent moon on his chest, a symbol John realizes - and was apparently following along with what his god commanded to get John back home.

John looks into those pretty brown eyes, wondering what this man was doing. No god liked him, so why would one want to safely guide him back to his home? Why would they send one of their worshippers to do it?

As John opened his mouth to ask why Marc was even here, there suddenly appeared an entity right next to Marc in the booth. It was in a dapper suit with a bird skull for a head, eye sockets empty as it stared at John. Marc sighs, slumping against the seat as he catches sight of the entity.

“Khonshu, you have further instructions for me?” Marc asks, tone sliding towards sarcastic. John watches as the man turns towards the god, annoyance clear on his face. “Or do you just want to meddle?”

“My son,” Khonshu says, his voice sounding as if it’s reverberating in John’s skull,” I come to make sure you get started sooner. They cannot be kept back forever.”

“You mean you don’t want to hold them back for much longer,” Marc said, tone definitely sarcastic now. John keeps quiet, hoping to see more of this conversation. He had seen many things and caused many things to happen, working as he did as a mage. But seeing a worshipper argue with their god this way was a first for him.

Khonshu didn’t shift to look at Marc. The god continued to look at John with its empty sockets, probably seeing what was going on in John’s mind more than he’d like. Then he turns to Marc, his stare boring into the man. Marc stares back unflinchingly. “Get him out before they decide his fate.”

“Hold them back and I can do that.” 

“Do I get a say?” John asks, a bit heated. As much as he would like help getting out of here, he would like the choice to be his.

Both the god and man turn to look at him. The god’s expression was unreadable due to being a skull, but John knew that it was judging him. Marc, on the other hand, was giving him a look that basically begged that John doesn’t open his mouth again.

“Do you want a say in your rescue, lost traveller?” The way Khonshu spoke into his skull made John wince since it somehow increased in volume. “Or do you want a choice in how you die?”

“That’s a bit over-dramatic even for a god,” John mumbles. Marc signs once more, slumping further into the booth.

“Which is it lost, traveller?” Khonshu asks, voice reverberating in John’s head. “What is your decision?”

John takes a moment, looking everywhere but at the god. Khonshu waited, patiently. The bastard probably didn’t care which way he decided or how long that decision took since time was meaningless. Even more so in the space between realities. Khonshu just wanted to see how John would decide and plan accordingly.

After a minute, John reaches into his trench coat and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He lights it and takes the first drag. Then he speaks as he breathes out the smoke. “I’ll go with your worshipper as long as you give me an answer for why you’re helping me.”

“Do I need a reason when you’re one of mine Constantine?” Khonshu said so matter of factly. John detected even a hint of smugness in the god’s tone. It caused him to snort, amused that any kind of god would want him.

“Mate, I have never worshipped you.” He says, flicking ashes into the ashtray.

“You walk the night under my moon. You may not have worshipped me, but you have traversed under my watch since you discovered magic.”

“What he means to say that you didn’t have to worship him to not be noticed by him,” Marc says, butting in. John looks over at the man, wondering what he got out of helping him. But he couldn’t ask that, at least not yet. 

He turns his attention back to Khonshu, taking a moment to breathe in the cigarette smoke. “And that’s all? You just want to help me because you’ve taken some kind of interest in me?”

“Do you doubt my kindness, Constantine?” The god’s voice still echoes in his head. 

“I doubt a thing that seems too good to be true, mate,” John said, smoke pouring out of his mouth. “You’ve probably seen my dealings with the other gods to know this.”

The skeleton head tilts to the side as if to study John through those empty eye sockets. Then Khonshu shrugs as if he couldn’t give a different answer than the one he just gave. “You will just have to trust my word, my traveller.”

“Really giving me a boost in trust, really, mate.”

From the corner of his eye, Marc signs, rolling his eyes at John’s sarcastic answer. Khonshu, the god, however, laughed. It rumbled through John’s skull, amusement evident in his voice. “Goodbye,” and with that, the god left the two of them in the bar.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, John smoking his cigarette and drinking while Marc stared off into space. Then John goes stand, crushing his cigarette in the ashtray. He catches Marc’s eye, grinning when he sees the man snap back to this reality.

“Let’s go on an adventure, yeah?”

All he got in response was an eye roll. He could work with that being a yes.

Marc puts on his mask, leaving John without a way to stare at his face. He liked seeing all the bruises and cuts and wondered what Khonshu offered his worshipper if it wasn't a healing ability. There had to be something else, something that John wasn’t seeing.

They went outside, seeing the streets was now filled with sand. John takes a moment to stare, curious as what this means. Something to do with Khonshu no doubt. He looks over at Marc and gestures for him to say something. “Where do we go, mate?”

Marc tilts his head. Then sets his eyes on him, two white spots looking at him from underneath the hood. It was an eerie sight, something obvious meant to strike fear into whoever Marc was hunting down. “We go where you least want to go,” Marc says at last, cryptic as all hell.

“And that means what?” John asks. He was desperate for a cigarette with all this bullshit. But he refrained from digging out the pack, figuring that Marc would judge him.

“We go to the place that you hide from, even now,” Marc said simply. Like John wasn’t getting it. “That one place that you’ve yet to make peace within your mind. What is your place, Constantine?”

“Quit being cryptic and spit it out already.” John digs for his pack, pulling out a cigarette. He needed something if he was going to get through this and it wasn’t like his lungs were going to get any worse. Not with that demon’s blood coursing through it. “I don’t have the patience for it.” He says, cigarette in his mouth, moving his hands to light it.

As he takes a drag, Marc speaks up. “You have to go to a place that represents what you won’t face.”

“An example, mate?”

“When I was here,” Marc starts, voice even.” I had to battle my way through a mental hospital and come to the fact that I needed to accept the other personalities in my head. What is your version of that, John Constantine?”

With the explanation settling into his mind, John understood what Marc had been getting at. What couldn’t he accept? What couldn’t be solved until coming here?

He knew what it was, it was the thing he tried to go to the mental hospital for. It didn’t help, the talking or the mental shocks that they administered for him despite it being his decision to go. Maybe it was a sign he wasn’t ready.

Or maybe it was a sign that regular human psychology wasn’t going to help.

“Newcastle,” He answers. “We have to go to Newcastle.”

Marc nods and lets John step in front of him, to lead the way. John moves through the streets, following his way back to the place that he had sworn he wouldn’t go to again. Maybe that’s why he had to go, face what he couldn’t face as Marc had told him. 

It haunted him, that whole situation. The girl’s screams that echoed for months, the guilt of being arrogant and stupid enough that he could control such a demon. The fact that Astra was still down there, being tortured for his arrogance and stupidity.

A sigh, taking in a drag. It wouldn’t do good to agonize over it on the way there, he had to focus for now. Khonshu might be watching over him and Marc, but that didn’t mean that the God was protecting them. The details of their surroundings changed, subtly enough that anyone who was freaked out being here wouldn’t notice. But John knew, had experienced something similar when it had come to that one drug trip with the shaman.

Also, the sand didn’t help with it spreading everywhere and getting into every nook and cranny of this empty version of London.

“The sand coming from you, Marc?” John asks, speaking up finally. He looks over his shoulder to see that the man still had both the mask and hood up, still having the creepy glowing eye trick going on.

“Yes.”

“Got any good reason why?”

It was a few moments of silence as they continued to walk, their footsteps echoing the pavement. Then Marc speaks up, voice as even when he gave the answer of where John was supposed to lead them. “Just a reminder of when my life changed.”

“Our old pal, Khonshu I presume?” John says, tone light. Despite his face being covered by the mask, John knew that Marc was smiling underneath it.

“Yes,” Marc says, moving to walk beside John,” I died in front of his statue and he brought me back to life.”

“Either you’re a lucky bastard or he knew you would come.” He says, dropping the cigarette butt in front of him. It gets crushed beneath his foot as they walk. He’s sure that whichever God or Goddess saw that would see it as a way to further curse his name.

Marc shrugs. “It’s both, depending on how and when you ask him,” Marc admits. “He likes to be cryptic sometimes to be an asshole.”

“He’s not the only one, luv.” 

“Is it a common factor among them?” Marc asks. He keeps up with John’s pace, his cape billowing out like there was an invisible fan in front of the man blowing air. “I haven’t met many others. More focused on the crime-fighting”

“And that’s a good thing. Khonshu has an interest in you and likes having you around. The others aren’t as kind to regular humans or their followers. Crueler.” John explains. The scenery changed once more, showing the grittier side of town he used to hang around as a self-proclaimed punk in the seventies. 

There, he saw a group of kids, all dressed to the nines (or their version of nines since it was the punk scene and the seventies.) Something was off about them as he and Marc walked closer. John moved a hand to one of his pockets, reaching for an item that would help them for any fight that this group wanted to pick with them. He sees from the corner of his eye, Marc moving a hand to suddenly produce two crescent-shaped darts, both small enough to fit in the palm of his hand.

Huh, he was like Batman if he was more accepting of the magic. And didn’t try to drive John out of Gotham every time he came to town. Okay, maybe not quite like Batman. Not unless Marc was also rich and adopted a bunch of kids in his spare time.

He turned his focus back to the group. They walked up to them seeing them all smoking and drinking, their laughter echoing against the bricks of nearby clubs and pubs. One of them turned, a girl with short blond hair, her eyes glowed yellow as she looked over at him. Her grin, wide and sinister, grew and she pointed at them, laughing like a hyena. The others joined her, their laughter growing and cascading over the surrounding areas.

Joker and Harley certainly didn’t have anything on them when it came to loud and obnoxious laughter. Which meant that whatever they were, they weren’t going to be friendly.

“What’re doing here, Constantine?” One of the boys asked, grin as sinister as it could be. “It’s not your night to play.”

“Why would you want him to, he sucks.” A different girl says, laughing like it was the funniest thing. “Especially when he has Chas around.”

John curled his fingers around an object, making sure to keep cool. “What would you know, you’re a bunch of wankers.” He said, causing them all to laugh together.

“Oh, like you’re not one yourself.” The girl who had spotted them said after the laughter subsided. “Can’t be a hypocrite now or that would put you with the rest of them.”

“The system, you mean?” He asks, knowing what they were going to say in response. He did at their age as well, caught up in the scene that had given him freedom after escaping his father.

A cackle and one of them shouted,” Yeah, that!”

“Then why are you hanging outside and not enjoying the acts, hmm?” 

That got them all to go silent, their looks of glee turning to anger. All of their eyes glowed a bright yellow as they all stared at him. John stared back, knowing that if he was smart he could get most of them in one go. 

Marc, silent throughout this whole thing, threw a dart at one of the kids. It hit the girl who had spotted them and caused her to screech. He threw another and John figured it was as good a moment as any to do his part. He pulled out a wooden cross from his pocket, laced with some spells that were meant to repel anything away and destroy anything that tried to fight back.

Whispering a few words, it glowed with his magic and activated. He threw it at the group, making to pull Marc back when the man tried to go fistfight the unknown creatures. Some of them went flying when it hit the ground in front of them and others were destroyed when they moved close enough to it.

There were hisses and screeches and sudden the rest of the group swarmed them. John cast spells and even threw a few punches himself, keeping them from ripping into his skin. One jumped on his back, pushing down to the ground. They gripped his arms, pulling them to pin to his back. As he squirmed to get out of their hold, they shoved his face into the pavement, rubbing it so his face would scrap.

He sees Marc’s white boots come into view and hears the sound of a struggling going on. The creature let go of him, going to attack Marc. John moves to get up and hears a loud scream. Then he feels them slump over his back, dead, something wet dripping over the back of his neck.

Looking up - shivering from the feeling of whatever was making its way down his shoulders and back - he sees blood spattering over the white outfit, staining it a muddy red. Still, Marc grabs John’s hand and pulls him up. He then sees the other creatures standing around them, waiting to strike. But there was a fear in their glowing yellow eyes, seeing one of their own brutally murdered.

“We fight as a team?” John asks.

“Yes,” And there were no more words spoken as they went to fight off the rest of the group. 

It was easier to fight knowing that someone had your back. Especially when they were skilled as Marc. He had a similar fighting style to Batman, all fists and kicks that were meant to make contact and take down the opponent. But there was an edge to it, something closer to the Red Hood with the way Marc would kill the creatures without hesitation.

By the end, both were covered in blood - Marc being more noticeable due to the white outfit. Panting, John reaches into his trench coat to pull out the pack of cigarettes. He watches as Marc pulls off the mask, bruises starting to blend in with the ones he saw earlier. And yet, he was still handsome despite the beatings.

Maybe John just wanted to fuck him, he had lays that were more morally corrupt than Marc. Less human as well. Maybe there was a connection made between the two of them, who was to say. John never had a good reason for anyone he fucked beyond he wanted to and they were pretty in some way to him.

Marc looks over at him, brown eyes filled with emotion. He moves closer to John as if he were deciding to kiss him or not. John takes a drag, letting the smoke crawl out of his mouth as he keeps still, watching the man cozy up to him.

Marc moves a gloved hand to John’s face, careful to press against the scrapes and bruises. John’s not sure what he sees on the other man's face, maybe wonderment, maybe lust, but it was enough for Marc to lean forward and press a kiss to John’s forehead. 

So much softer and kinder than John was expecting.

That’s when Khonshu decided to show up.

John sees when Marc stiffens up slightly and then sighs. “Khonshu. Here to warn me that time is almost up?”

“My son.” The God starts, his voice still reverberating in John’s head. John turns to see that Khonshu was now a person, looking similar to the outfit and mask that Marc wore while holding a staff in one hand. “Why do you waste time?”

“A little busy fighting whatever those were,” John said, kicking at one of the bodies.

The God titles his head, as if curious about John speaking up. “Lost traveller, you face your trial and go home. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Don’t know what you see since you’re omnipresent or whatever it is, but either let us deal with the obstacles like all heroes are supposed to or just drop us into our universes.” John steels himself, knowing he was either amusing the Egyptian God or about to be obliterated. He wasn’t one of Khonshu’s followers nor was he whatever Marc was to the God.

Khonshu tilted his head to the other side, studying John like he did at the pub. He moves closer, placing a hand on his forehead - palm making contact where Marc had kissed him, fingers gripping into his hair and skin. John doesn’t move, tremble or beg for his life, just waits to see what the God will decide. 

He hears Marc shuffling closer to his back, his hands grabbing at his shoulders, pulling him away from Khonshu. John lets Marc handle him like a Raggedy Ann doll, holding him close to the man’s chest, staring defiantly at Khonshu.

“Let us finish this job, Khonshu,” Marc said quietly. “Let him finish.”

“You won’t see him after this,” Khonshu starts, voice sounding both annoyed and amused all in once. “And yet you grow attached.”

“I’m sure he’ll find a way. He got himself here after all.”

“I resent that, luv,” John says, bringing himself into the conversation. Looking up, he sees a twitch of a smile, amusement at John trying to put up a front.

“Finish your mission, my son. But finish soon.” Then Khonshu was gone, going where Gods and Goddesses went to hang together.

Marc doesn’t let him go, holding him close. John shifted, moving so they were chest to chest. Then he pressed a kiss to the underside of Marc’s jaw, delighting in the way he felt the man shudder. Smirking, he presses another.

“Are we close to Newcastle?” Marc asks. His voice wavering as John continued to press kisses to his cheek and jaw.

“Yeah, about a block away. You sure you want to join me on that? Nasty stuff luv.” He presses another kiss to the corner of Marc’s lips before saying,” This place can’t be so bad that we can’t stay for a bit?”

Marc shakes his. “No, it’s not good for me.”

“You mentioned being here before and something to do with your head.”

“DID,” Marc said, staring ahead. “Had it my whole life.”

“Shit,” John says, sagging against the man. “Definitely not Batman.”

“You comparing me to someone else?” There was amusement in Marc’s voice. “I thought I was special.”

“Oh, you’re special. Just not quite a hardass nor do you have a gaggle of children following you around like him.”

“Is that a requirement?”

“Nah, he’s just a fancy. You, however, I am willing to actually admit anything to.”

“Enough to willingly explain why Newcastle is important?”

John swallows. Nobody, but those who were there that night and Zatanna understood the guilt that John felt, continued to feel whenever he remembered what he destined that little girl too. “It’s where I learned I was an arrogant knobhead.”

Marc nods, somehow understanding not to ask further. “Just tell me when you need to step in to help fight.”

“Can’t help much against magic and demons, luv.”

“I can still throw punches.”

John smiles, pressing one last kiss to Marc’s lips. Then he steps out of Marc’s hold and moves towards Newcastle. He flicks the cigarette down, crushing it beneath his boot as he goes. Though Marc’s steps were light, John was glad to hear them as the man moved to keep in step with him.

They arrived at the club, still looking as grimy and anti-establishment as John remembers. There were no crowds milling around outside, no music pouring out of the cracks of the walls and no lights to indicate that it was open. But there is the feeling, similar to the one he felt that night and the knowledge of what happened, of what he did.

A breath in. Then he moved towards the door, stuffing his hand into one pocket, readying himself to drag another item out if needed. If it was Nergal he had to face, John would need to be prepared. It might be a projection from his own created by the space between realities or could be the actual demon. Rules of magic weren’t picky especially in such a place as this.

He heard the light footsteps behind him, Marc keeping quiet as they entered the building. Then suddenly, Marc disappeared without a trace. John sighs, knowing that the idiot would help even if it would get him killed. John moves down the hallway towards the one room where everything went down.

Bodies of teenagers and young adults littered the ground - all either torn apart or slashed by the hands of the demon that Astra had unknowingly summoned. Closer to the middle of the room was a wide circle where a ring of salt had been made. There was nothing inside it and yet, John knew that wasn’t true. A gut feeling that said to run, to flee, to find somewhere safe. He ignored it to walk closer to it, studying as best as he could. 

Silence rang as John stopped in front of the salt circle. Nothing, but him to break it. As he moved to do so - using his foot to rub away part of the circle - something flickered into it, the image of what made him stop. There stood, Astra, young and scared as the day he tried to help her. She looked frail and skinny as well as if she were still being abused by her father for magic. She stared at John, disbelief on her face as she was just as surprised that he was in front of her as John was at her being in front of him.

“John?” She starts, voice cracking. It hurt to hear, knowing why it sounded like that. “What’re you doing here?”

“Trying to get out.” He answers. “Got stuck someplace I shouldn’t be.”

“Hell? You’re in hell?”

“No, pet, I’m somewhere different.”

“Then you can’t be real, nobody ever appears down here. Not without hurting me.” 

That hurt to hear. John feels his chest constrict, trying to clamp down on his heart as he thinks about how much she had to endure doing all those years. A breath in, a breath out.

“I’m real, Astra. I’m sorry for what I caused, what I did to you,” He says, voice wavering, close to cracking. “I was too arrogant and foolish when I summoned Nergal.”

She stares up at him, eyes pinning him down. Even if they were gentle, soft for a child who had to unwillingly endure Hell, John knew he deserved her scorn. Deserved whatever she decided to do - expect maybe forgiveness.

She moves towards the edge of the circle, still staring at him. Then she speaks up. “Why do you think I would hate you, John? You’re the one to stop him.”

“I sent you to Hell! I don’t deserve your forgiveness or your understanding!” He shouts, angry that she wasn’t. Why couldn’t she see that’s what he wanted and deserved?

“Stop that.” She said, stern. Her eyes hardened as she stared him down. “Stop that, it doesn’t help you then and it doesn’t help you now. You’re trying to escape, right?” She waits for John to slowly nod before continuing,” Then acknowledge it and escape.”

“I can’t.” He says, choking up.

“You have to, John. Otherwise, you stay here, away from your life. Do you really want that?”

“I can’t, I can’t without hearing you hate me, Astra!” He shouts.

She doesn’t flinch. Just stands her ground. “What you want to absolve yourself of guilt will not help you, John. Acknowledge it and go.”

He struggles to find the words to explain, that it wasn’t just her. That there so many others he had screwed over to keep the bigger picture in mind. 

That was when he felt Marc place a hand on his shoulder. “Listen.”

Swallowing, he turns his head to see that Marc hadn’t put his mask back on. His face, littered with cuts and bruises. His brown eyes, filled with understanding and kindness, two things that John didn’t want.

But maybe this wasn’t about what John wanted. 

He sighs and breaks the salt circle. She still held gentleness in her eyes as she faded away in flames and smoke. He stands there, looking at the scorched ground where Astra had stood. It hurt to feel the tears come and yet, John knew they were needed. He presses his hands to his eyes, wiping the tears away as quickly as they come. His breath becomes uneven as this continues. 

Marc waits for John to pull him closer, pressing kisses to his hair and gently holding him. They stay like this for a few minutes as John processes all that has happened. Despite letting go of the guilt for Astra and for others that got caught up in his life, it feels free for once.

This realization was cut short by John being dragged off. He hears the familiar sound of Nergal’s laugh and he curses for letting his guard down. Of course, it wouldn’t be the end of this journey with only Astra, Nergal is part of the package. He quickly casts a spell causing Nergal to freeze for enough time for John to get free. The demon starts moving and John moves backwards, glaring down at him with eyes that haunted him for years.

They glowed yellow, continuously as Nergal grew angrier. Suddenly the group of kids with glowing yellow eyes from earlier made sense.

“Marc, get ready to throw those punches!’” John shouts, readying another spell as he gets closer to the other man. Marc nods, pulling his mask over his head and ran towards Nergal. He was going to physically fight a demon and John wondered how the man lived as long as he did.

He sends another spell out, slowing down the demon while he searches for some blood stored in his pockets. Some of those crescent darts make their way into Nergal’s skin, digging in and causing him to bleed. The demon starts moving after a few moments, focusing on Marc as the immediate threat.

John draws on the back of his hand, symbols that would send Nergal back to Hell. It wouldn’t stop the demon from coming after him when he returned to his universe, but it would be the best temporary solution for now. As the circle on his hands are completed, John puts a strip of blood on his tongue, tasting the bitter iron as he starts the incantation - repeating the words as the magic grows and binds itself to the demon. 

Looking up, he sees that Marc is caught by Nergal and yet he is still trying to fight the demon. His punches connected to Nergal’s face as well as his kicks even if it didn’t have much of an effect on the demon. John continues to repeat the incantation, feeling the magic make way, slowly wrapping itself around Nergal, ready to send him back to Hell.

It took a minute more, but it was enough to get around Nergal and send him packing. It was with an innocent pop that the demon left, going back to Hell to torture the souls he had. Marc falls to the ground, landing on the bodies of the dead teens and young adults. John walks over, more tired than usual after doing that.

He sees Marc pull off the mask, somehow gaining a few more cuts. He smiles and holds a hand for the man to take. Marc grips his hand and lets John pull him up. He pulls Marc close, pressing a kiss to Marc’s lips.

“Guessing punching did come in handy.” He says, smiling still.

“I could have told you that. I don’t just fit regular criminals like your Batman.” Marc says back, smiling he gives John a kiss.

“He’s not mine, unfortunately. Also doesn’t believe in magic if you can believe that.”

“Very logical and gruff? How can you fancy that?”

“You should see the suit, it really highlights his best areas. Also the cape.”

“I have a cape as well,” Marc said. “Probably even better than his.” 

John just rolls his eyes as he leans in for a kiss. It was slow and filled with emotions, something he hadn’t had for a long time.

Then Khonshu showed up to ruin that. 

“My son,” The familiar voice said, reverberating in John’s skull. 

Marc breaks the kiss, sighing. “You couldn’t have given us a minute more?”

“No.”

“Well, he’s certainly a patient being,” John said.

“Don’t start,” Marc said. He holds John close for a few moments, pecking at John like he couldn’t live with one slow kiss. “I can’t have him deciding to take your heart just because you sassed him.”

John smirks. “Been put on many lists for less than that, luv.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

They turn to the God, seeing him appear as a human with a hawk skull once more. The God steps forward, holding a hand to John’s forehead. It was similar to earlier, just without the threat of smiting him where he stood. Marc let’s go of John and lets Khonshu do what is needed.

Khonshu presses a hand to his forehead, warm and gentle as he grips John’s head. John feels something warm spread through his body as he closes his eyes. The atoms of his body buzz at the energy, excited at how much of a boost this was to his magic. He controls his breathing as this happens, trying not to think of ways to force the God back.

He would have to trust that Khonshu wasn’t sending him to his doom. Moments pass by feeling like minutes, his breathing still keeping rhythm as best as he can. Then the feeling increased, wrapping around his body and John feels as if he were invincible, ready to take on the world. He opens his eyes, looking towards Marc.

Marc stares back, his brown eyes showing what couldn’t be said. Maybe they would find each other one day, have a proper reunion where they would do whatever they pleased. Including making the beast with two backs if Marc were feeling up to it.

John smiles, knowing they would find each other. Magic was fickle after all as well as temperamental.

Similar to the pop that happened to Dergal, John experiences it for himself. There was so much that happened on that journey that he couldn’t ever describe to another human being. 

But it landed him back in London, standing on the street near a pub. The streets had people walking down them, staggering as they were drunk and leaving the pubs to go home. John takes a moment to feel London, gritty and willing to toss anyone who wasn’t willing to take up her challenges. The magic of millions of souls crowded together, effecting both themselves and the city.

He opens his eyes, sees that the nearby pub would be open for a few more hours. He smiles, still buzzing from Khonshu’s power flowing through him. Then another being popped up next to him, covered in white and still had all those pretty bruises on his face.

“He give you a limit, luv?”

“Next twenty-four hours.”

John smiles grows, excited at all they could with that. It was good to be home.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a fic I've been working on for the last few weeks! I was so excited to do this since these two would be great to see with each other even across different universes. Also would be a cool ship to explore further if I ever get the time! Also was a lot of fun since John is one of my favourite characters and Marc has recently become one of my favourites since I started to read the comics for him. 
> 
> Hopefully, it was a fun one-shot to read!


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